


Reaching

by BubblyCeci



Series: Never To Be Finished (Probably) [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Derek Fucked Up, Dryads - Freeform, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Future Alpha Peter, He Cares About Stiles At Any Rate, Kind Of Good Peter, Kind Of One Sided Sterek, M/M, Unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblyCeci/pseuds/BubblyCeci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has the potential to become an emissary. When Derek kicks him out of the pack, Alan Deaton takes an interest in him and is willing to help him come into his own. Six years down the way, they're together, Beacon Hills is a supernatural hub, and Peter's wanting to regain his Alphahood to save the train wreck his nephew caused.</p>
<p>Warning: Unfinished in that is has no real plot, only hints of one. This idea didn't even get fully formed, but because this site has very few Deaton/Stiles (Stion? Yeah, let's call it that) fics, I figured I'd contribute what I had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaching

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta'd by anyone other than myself. I do not own Teen Wolf.
> 
> Again, this idea didn't even get fully formed, but the serious lack of Deaton/Stiles drove me to put it up anway. Seriously Unfinished.

          Stiles choked back a gasp of disbelief, raising his top lip in a snarl when Derek stared back into his honey eyes with annoyance. His hackles raised, the anger overpowering his hurt. He wanted it like that, then? Even after everything he had done to save their asses? That was fine. That was goddamn perfect.

          He gave the man a cold nod and whirled around, striding to and out the door with a confidence he wouldn’t feel on a normal day. Behind him, he heard the puppies murmur words of reassurance. He heard Peter give a low, dark chuckle and tell Derek he hoped he hadn’t just ruined a very important relationship. He felt a flash of satisfaction before the anger roared back.

 

…

 

          Stiles slumped against the cool leather of one of Alan Deaton’s office chairs, eyes now a dark whisky and glassy with tears. He didn’t know what possessed him to go to the man, didn’t know why the mindless drive ended up with him spilling his soul to the man while sipping warm tea, but he was glad it happened. The fury he had felt just minutes ago had turned to a lingering hurt, and he knew somehow the man could help heal the wound.

          “I don’t know why I’m so upset,” he murmured into the mug, a long-fingered hand scrubbing the tears away almost angrily. He glanced up to find the dark skinned man watching him with sympathy, and he felt his eyes well up again. “It’s not like I ever had delusions about my relationship with them. I always knew I wasn’t- wasn’t pack, but I- it _hurts_. It hurts, and I don’t understand _why_. I’ve never been close to Derek and his puppies.”

          Deaton heaved a sigh, and his own hand- broad and long- grasped his and tugged it away from his face. It was warm, comforting, and he felt the burn- like being shot, a hole in his chest- sooth. The man’s thumb started rubbing circles across the back, and he let out a sniffle.

          “I do,” the man admitted, tones smooth and deep and calming. It made him want to curl up and sleep for days, want to drink hot chocolate while reading and covered in his favorite blanket. “He kicked you out of the emissary position, Stiles, possibly hoping that the Martin girl will be able to fill it just as well. That is why it hurts, because you _were_ a part of his pack.”

          He whimpered, a tear breaking the dam and rolling down his cheek. The circles being traced on his hand increased, and the man cupped his jaw and brushed the wet drop away. The burn increased despite the soothing touches, and he had to put the mug down, his hands trembling too much to hold it steady. His voice was broken, hoarse, when he asked, “She’ll do better than me, won’t she?”

          Deaton’s dark eyes blinked, the normal serene twinkle gone and replaced with a fierce knowing. He shook his head, fingers still rubbing against pale skin. “No, she won’t. Emissaries are not made, we are born, and she lacks the potential. When Derek Hale realizes this, he will come beg for you back. In the meantime, I can train you, help you realize your true worth. Would you like that?”

          He didn’t have to think about it. The answer was obvious. He nodded.

 

…

 

          He pressed closer to the warmth behind him, tilting his head to give Alan a teasing look with sparkling honey eyes. A warm smile curled his lips when the man hummed and leaned over to brush his own against the back of his mole-dotted neck. “Not changing you mind, then?” he questioned, going back to chopping various vegetables for their dinner.

          “No,” he murmured, his lean arms wrapping around the younger man’s slender hips. He nuzzled his face into his hair. “I have no intentions of getting arrested by your father, Stiles. Anything more than cuddling will have to wait until after tonight.”

          Stiles huffed a laugh, turning his head to place a kiss against the man’s smooth cheek. He would never admit it outside of their bubble of privacy, but the man’s romantic tendencies charmed him like nothing else. “He wouldn’t, not knowing how happy you make me, but I’ll leave well enough alone, you big softie. I can wait until you two ‘officially’ meet.”

          “I know you love it,” was the smooth reply. The arms squeezed him tight before releasing, and the warmth vanished from his back. “Now, excuse me. I have to go dress, and no, you cannot watch. Horny teen.”

          Stiles chuckled. “Only for you, Al, only for you.”

 

…

 

          Stiles snarled, the normally soothing thrum of magic under his skin adding fuel to the fire. His hands slid under Amelia’s arms and pulled her to her feet, cradling her in a protective embrace. His eyes flashed silver with power. “How dare you, Hale. She was well within her rights to challenge- you and yours were in her territory, and you threatened her.”

          The man in question seemed to deflate, broad shoulders tucking in. His hazel eyes were pained, thick brows furrowed, and the rest of his puppies stepped back. Peter seemed amused, if his Cheshire grin was telling.

          Amelia sighed from his arms, her black orbs flickering open to stare up at him. The wounds the Alpha’s claws inflicted were already healing, the blood running back inside. Her voice was soft, melodious. “It is okay, Stiles, I’m going to be right as rain in a minute. Ready to devour whatever delicious meal you made, right alongside your men.”

          He snorted, taking her lead in ignoring the Hale Pack. His long fingers carded through her dark pixie cut, scratching at the scalp every pass. “You just want to flirt with my dad, but that’s cool. He likes you, too.”

          “I know,” she replied, ruby lips turning up in a cheeky smile. She nuzzled into his neck, drawing back after a moment, her grin wider. Her expression turned teasing. “You and Alan can’t keep your hands off each other, can you? Even after all this time, you two are still sickeningly adorable.”

          “Even after all this- it’s just been three years!” he protested in mock indignation. The warm smile spreading across his face gave him away, as did the light shove he gave her to get her out of his embrace. His eyes sparkled in mischief. “And no, we have not yet suffered from bed death. I don’t think we will, to be honest- we’re both much too curious about, well, everything, and perfectionists to boot.”

          She threw her head back, laughing, even as the werewolves whined. It was a low sound, but loud enough to get their attention focused back on them. Her open demeanor shuttered, and she turned to face them. “Hm, yes, I forgot about you puppies. What shall I do with you?”

          Stiles stepped behind her, hands settling on her shoulders. “There are several things you can do,” he admitted, keeping the pack in his sights. He noticed Lydia staying towards the back with a flash of ruthless satisfaction. “According to the Laws, you would be well within your right to slaughter the whole pack before taking control of their land, but we can reach a compromise, yes? Alpha Hale gifts your herd five acres of his land along with the quarry, and they avoid being killed in a fit of dryadic rage. Everybody wins.”

          “Now see here,” Lydia began, shoving her way to stand beside Derek. The man’s tense posture turned relaxed, as if her presence would help fix everything. Stiles resisted the urge to chuckle, and Amelia leaned back into his arms in a moment of shared amusement. “That’s too much compensation for an accident, one that won’t even leave a mark on her. I say we forgive and forget.”

          At her last words, he allowed a snort to escape. His hold on his friend’s shoulders tightened, telling her without words to be ready for a fight. He kept his tone calm, if somewhat mocking. “No, I’m afraid that’s not how it works, dear. Dryads are notorious, as you should know, for wanting justice, and allowing such an act to go unpunished is not something Amelia here will allow. And she shouldn’t because your Alpha’s actions were not an accident- she stated her challenge clearly, he did not accept it, she turned away thinking the confrontation to be over, and he attacked her _from behind_. Even if the Laws of our kind didn’t state merciless retaliation to be okay, we emissaries would be sympathetic for her plight over yours. The compromise stands- accept or die.”

          The redhead’s jaw worked, face going pink with fury, but Peter’s hand on her arm stopped her from causing any more damage. His exasperation showed, leading Stiles to believe he, at least, was disillusioned with the Alpha’s attempts at creating an emissary out of her. Emphasis on _attempts_.

          “Stop now before we die for your stupidity,” he hissed through his teeth, eyes flashing bright blue. He shoved her back towards the rest of the puppies, and then he stepped in front of Derek. His head gave a slight bow. “My apologies, Emissary Stiles, Dryad Commander Amelia- Miss Martin meant no harm. We lost our emissary through the actions of our Alpha several years ago, and though she tries her best, well, she will never be able to compare to him. She is a human, born without the potential. She does not know any better and did not mean to offend you.”

          Stiles nodded his acceptance of the explanation, taking almost perverse delight at the again tense posture of his old Alpha. Peter’s subtle digs at both him and Lydia warmed him, and though they had never been close when he had been pack, maybe they could become so. “I myself take no offense, but I can’t speak for Amelia and her heard- an emissary I am, but I have not been tied to a group in years. Miss Martin’s ignorance is unsurprising- we true emissaries are few and far between, and we guard our secrets jealously. You, though, are a curiosity. Have you had many dealings with my kind, or are you working off instinct? If it is the latter, perhaps you should look into the Right of Will.”

          The man’s blue eyes sparked with both amusement and realization- he had just gotten permission from the keepers to perform the ritual. He was going to perform it, too, that much was certain. “Thank you, Emissary, and congratulations on your recent joining with Alan Deaton- I wish you both many years of health and joy. If I ever gain Alphahood, I ask that you consider joining me. Dryad, meet with us at the northern edge of our territory tomorrow at noon- we will work out the acres there.”


End file.
